


Battle Scars

by Sweatypuppy



Series: 20 years [1]
Category: World Wrestling Entertainment
Genre: Drug Abuse, F/M, OC death, brothers and friends sticking up for Dean and helping him through this tragic loss, rehabilitation I guess?
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-04-29
Updated: 2015-04-29
Packaged: 2018-03-26 08:34:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 660
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3844222
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sweatypuppy/pseuds/Sweatypuppy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After the loss of his wife, Dean fell into a horrible depression, and now he's trying to pick himself back up with the remainder of his family's help.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Battle Scars

**Author's Note:**

> This fanfic is written in junction with PhenomAngel's fic that hasn't quite been posted yet.
> 
> Also, this chapter is 666 words long. Holy. Shit.

I was doing a perfectly fine job, for my first time. I hadn't talked in front of a crowd like this in years, I was surprised I even knew how anymore. Of course, the excitement when the microphone was placed in my hand was replaced with fear and anxiety, not a feeling I particularly enjoyed, but I'd have to deal with it for now. I had Phil there with me to keep me in line, in case I got in a little too over my head or I couldn't keep my little audience in line.

I stood on the school's stage, microphone in hand, staring off into the first few rows full of high school kids who all stared back. Well, except for the few of them fiddling with their phones or doodling in notebooks and on hands. I didn't mind them not paying attention, actually, I appreciated it. Less eyes on me.

Phil had told me earlier not to bring any religion or too much off topic personal life into this.

I'd have to at least mention religion. And personal life.

Sorry, Punk, I've got to disobey. Get it in the kids' heads that what I did was wrong.

\-----

"It was... Bad, because I honestly can't think of a better word. I went out every night, stayed at the bar until I eventually got kicked out, stumbled home, woke up in the morning with a splitting headache and an empty bottle of some kind of pill that I'd never seen before, eat something, go to sleep, repeat. It was _bad._ "

These kids were actually listening to me. They were silent, eyes locked with mine. I didn't expect that. Apparently I still held that charisma I supposedly had three years ago, back when I did this for a living in front of thousands of people, some of whom hated my guts.

"See, I had an alcohol problem since I could legally drink." I paused. "Well, okay, before then. I blame my father for that. But... I found an angel to guide me back on the right track."

Punk gave me a look at that, and I actually heard a little group of girls "aww" at me from the front row.

"But... Then she was taken away from me." I held the mic with both hands, tapping the wedding band on my ring finger, chuckling quietly when those girls gasped, and to keep those tears from forming in my eyes. I didn't want to be _that_ public speaker. "So, I fell right back where I was before I even met her."

"Dean, don't do this to yourself. Leave her out of this." Punk stood, putting a gentle hand on my shoulder and shaking me lightly. He looked worried for me.

I shook my head, a small smile spreading on my lips. "No, I have to... She's the only reason I even started to fix myself..."

He kept trying to protest, the kids starting to mutter amongst themselves, so instead I just kept going, ignoring Phil with a little smirk. " _Any_ way, after she left me and I went spiraling back downward, my buddy Phil here helped pick me back up." I gestured toward Punk, who gave an amused look and shook his head. "Him, and my brothers Seth and Roman... I'm so grateful."

The bell rang then, all of the kids hesitating before taking their stuff and getting up. I watched, mildly disappointed that most of these kids were eager to leave, but glad that some wanted to stay and hear me spew more bullshit. Of course, I was glad I got one session of the day finished.

The teachers guided all the kids out of the auditorium, and the noise died down slowly, leaving me and Punk as the only ones left.

A hand patted on my shoulder and a water bottle was placed in my hand. "I know I said no personal life, but that was good. Use that."


End file.
